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Poem by Countee Cullen
She of the Dancing Feet Sings
And what would I do in heaven pray, Me with my dancing feet? And limbs like apple boughs that sway When the gusty rain winds beat. And how would I thrive in a perfect place Where dancing would be a sin, With not a man to love my face, Nor an arm to hold me in? The seraphs and the cherubim Would be too proud to bend, To sing the faery tunes that brim My heart from end to end. The wistful angels down in hell Will smile to see my face, And understand, because they fell From that all-perfect place.
Countee Cullen's other poems:
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